


mauve.

by mitsuchawn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Dorks, Emotionally Repressed, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Memories, Repressed Memories, Sad Crowley (Good Omens), but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 19:16:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19933153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsuchawn/pseuds/mitsuchawn
Summary: He didn't have a refined musical taste like Crowley but he found a way to make his meeting more enjoyable. Or tried.





	mauve.

**Author's Note:**

> It's not really a romantic story but ah, the ineffable husbands are worshiped regardless of the situation. Change my mind.

“He should be here by now, shouldn't he?”

In those days the rains in London were relentless and didn’t stop for a second, sliding down the walls and hitting the roof of the bookshop with force, something that Aziraphale sighed for. He loved the taste and tranquility rain brings It was the perfect opportunity to close the bookshop, simply as an excuse for the holiday and prevent potential customers from entering his premises, wetting everything in their path and risking some of hisprecious books to the touch of water. 

Also, if we want to be more specific, in those same wonderful evenings, the visit of the demon Crowley made everything more enjoyable. Was that possible? His unnoticed presence, his graceful and haughty comments, and that complete willingness to listen him telling stories of yesteryear from the books he got from time to time. The same perspective someone could observe from their devotion to Divinity, were all actions Aziraphale appreciated from the bottom of his heart, something like "the cherry on the cake," no doubt. And with that said, that Tuesday afternoon he had closed early, quite early, the bookstore waiting for _his friend_ , with whom they had agreed to meet in their abode to spend time, while their respective offices decided on what tasks to give them to make them feel another day more miserable than the previous one, as Crowley used to say every time they were going to rebuke them. 

_Click_ . A snap, the chimney began to burn. The clouds full of water were grey and overshadowed the whole city. _Click_ . Hot cocoa for both of them was prepared and left on the coffee table, the story that would be prepared to tell him once he settled comfortably in front of the fire was also there. He assumed he'd arrive at the Bentley so he didn't worry too much about the excessive rain. But the moment he was going to put something on the record player to liven up, _click_ , an idea settled in his mind as if it were a hunch. 

He remembered previous nights when Crowley had invited him to his apartment for a night of long and pleasant conversations, as they used to have, accompanied by a good wine and the few raindrops that began to fall. In that minimalist and elegant place there were as many plants as books in his bookstore, or perhaps _not too many_. Once he arrived next to the pleasant company, that was no longer in charge of denying, the music also received him, enveloping the atmosphere with a pleasant aura. However, he didn’t have the same grace in choosing modern music for the occasion, and it was that evening when something spoke within him with enthusiasm. 

_Click_. 

A large object covered with a sheet as white as snow was installed in front of his armchair; he sat down and attracted the object in the middle of his legs, sliding the large cloth that showed the lengthy instrument of dark wood, delicately decorated with some lapis lazuli and gold pebbles in the column and the capitel, also with strings tense enough to be played without the need of tune them.

“Oh, as dazzling as ever.”

It was a harp. 

His harp, the one he had left in the Heavens before beginning his work as guardian on Earth. 

He caressed that dew-scented wood he longed for (and didn't know he was until he held it in his hands again). He closed his eyes by running his fingers between the strings delicately and the sound made something resonate within him, bringing back memories of when he played melodies to the smallest angels in formation, thousands of years ago, when he was still Up There. And at the same time as he remembered, the entrance bell rang. It took a little time to open his eyes when he saw his long-awaited guest leave his jacket hanging by the fire. 

“Crowley! I barely heard you. I'm so sorry, you can settle in while I go look for-" 

“It's all right, angel,” he stopped him before he stood up and went over to the table to serve himself the hot chocolate. It was obvious that he would wait for him with it, and despite the icy streets, inside the local he could simply keep with his shirt and feel the warmth of the environment. Two cups and a small cake that he had brought to Aziraphale for his delight. Ready. “You were gonna play that huge thing, weren't you?”

The light in the place was dim, warm. Crowley always thought that no matter how monotonous that place was, he really felt, at times, much more comfortable than in his own flat. Aziraphale’s place combined perfectly with the educated character of him who had left everything ready for his encounter. 

“Oh, yes. Well…,” he started to get nervous and took a deep breath as he put his hands on the strings, “it's been a long time since I last played my harp, Crowley. You know, I'm an angel, I should be able to do it without problems and all that...", he said uncomfortably and thanked him for the cup and the pastry he put aside for him, while he made the strings vibrate absently.

“Of course, I know. If you want to play, do it, no problem, I'll just be a spectator, okay?”, he relaxed sinking into the couch. 

There was a silence. They looked at each other with complicit and Crowley took a sip of the chocolate. It burned; it was nice. 

“In any case," he continued, "is this a special occasion or something like that? I mean, it's a little... weird, don't you think? A record was enough and poof! There was no need for _this_.”

“I think I should say that if I found you reading in the comfort of your own home, dear. That would be odd," he shook his head and began to play the strings softly, squinting at his eyes in an attempt to concentrate and familiarize himself with the sensation again. “And every time you come it's a special occasion. I just wanted to add a different touch to our usual meeting.” 

When the demon heard it, he raised his eyebrows with surprise for the statement. He gave himself the freedom to leave his precious dark glasses on the coffee table and looked at the celestial being in front of him for a single second before closing his eyes and _feel._

Angels are virtuous and Aziraphale was one in extreme, were just his years on Earth that had "softened" him in a certain way: within those virtues, music was something with which they, as angels, were born, impregnated in their identity as God's messengers like a sweet essence that is detached by each pore of their skin and they perfected while closer to the Deity theyget. 

The fingers slowly tore the instrument’s strings, making a soft melody come to life, filling the room with an asphyxiating and healing tranquility, next to the aroma of apple and cinnamon characteristic of the place. The notes floated in the air and both felt in the clouds: one by the satisfactory sensation in the body that reminded him of the purring of that great instrument making his interior vibrate; and the other, enchanted by the serene melody, within the sight of the angel that played each note with a grace that, probably, nobody else had had the honor to observe, or at least not after settling among mortals. The melody lasted a short time and ended on a long vibrant note, sending a chill to Aziraphale’s body who drowned a sigh at the end. "That felt amazing," he thought. 

He watched Crowley smiling and something stirred when he noticed him with his eyes closed listening attentively. He took a piece of cake, enjoying the acidic touch in contrast to the sweetness of the whipped cream and made a satisfying sound. 

Another look. 

“Do you want to try to play?”

That cake was extremely delicious, the angel needed another bite for sure.

“What do you say? Don't talk nonsense, Aziraphale.” 

“Come on, it's not like I'm going to kill you for trying,” caressing the column gave him a look full of hidden emotion, “and I'm sure you _remember_ how to do it.”

The demon snarled as he drank a little hotter cocoa. 

“I remember, and that's why I don't want to do it.”

“Crowley, I'm sure you'd do great and I'm excited to think about it. You love music and I'd like to see you in it.”

“First," he frowned, "I don’t love anything. Demons don't know about things like love, angel. And second of all, it was you who was excited to play again, wasn't it?!”, his voice came out sharper and more scandalized than he wanted, so he only managed to sigh resignedly. “Don't expect a lullaby like the one you just played, eh.”

“Oh, dear! Will you do it then?”

”You'll keep babbling about it and looking at me with pitiful eyes for the rest of the night if I refuse," he replied bitterly as he stood up and thundered his neck. 

Aziraphale's longing increased as Crowley settled into his armchair by placing the harp between his legs, and by the time he sat down in front of him, the dark being began to move his fingers between the strings with grace and subtlety, very unbecoming of him. 

"This is..." Aziraphale held his breath and put the candy aside. He knew he would be good at playing the harp as it was an ethereal in some remote time, but it was almost unreal to see him there playing so exquisitely in front of him. His body felt relaxed; his hair fell gracefully in front of his squinted eyes and his thin fingers barely touched the strings, which caught his attention because of the pleasant sound it produced. 

“ _Mauve (_ 1).” Crowley whispered, without stopping playing. 

The melody had a tint of melancholy, being at the same time gloomy and reminded him of those heavenly songs of which he had been a partaker millennial before. It's more. He was sure that he had heard that melody before, but he didn't remember very well what was it about and he just kept humming it so as not to obscure the beautiful sound. "Where have I heard it before?" The demon assured him that it would not be a quiet melody, but it turned out to be pleasant and that emotion that was leading him to the point that his eyes began to water was greater than expected, so the voice slowly broke. At the end of the song Crowley was so absorbed that he went on with another, not realizing the angel's condition.

“ _Fernweh”,_ said in a low voice and Aziraphale assumed it would be the name of his interpretation. He didn't know it like the previous one and yet the feeling of loneliness didn't go away, making the air feel overwhelming. 

"Oh, Crowley, dear," he thought when he saw him with a grimace of pain: he was putting so much passion into what he was doing that, just as he felt pleasant emotions, he was also beginning to soak up an endearing nostalgia. The blurred image of someone touching There on high, with copper-colored curls and gentle amber eyes appeared and as a gust of wind went away. "It can't be." Tears only began to flow as the music ended and he didn't realize it until a voice caught his attention: the melody was still bubbling in his ears and in his mind those beautiful eyes were looking at him. 

“Azira... Aziraphale!”

“Huh? Crowley?”, the above-mentioned was kneeling in front of him, wiping the tears on his cheeks and caressing them with fear. The bright yellow eyes looked at him and he could feel them trying to find a way to calm him down in the depths of his being. 

“I think I didn't do as well as I thought," he joked worried at the sight of the angel's condition. 

“No! No, no, no, it's not true, you did great! Just... I was thrilled to see you play, dear, and I was strangely familiar with the first tune,” it was an attempt to recompose by taking a breath of air. His body trembled slightly and he found it difficult to relax, so he rubbed his cheekbone against his palm. And as he held it, he stroked Crowley's hair gently, imposing a small miracle on him; something simple, so that the anguish he had felt during the entire performance would be forgotten, although he wasn't sure if it would work. “Any we've heard in your flat before, perhaps?” 

“Oh, no. It's the only song I remember from the day I fell, angel,” without taking away his hand looked at him tenderly, “and I thought you would know it. I see I wasn't wrong.”

“You see I didn't.” He didn't get out of the surprise. That deja-vú was very real, too real to contain, and as if it were a small child, curiosity grew in him. “Ah, Crowley.” 

“What?”

“You... do you remember anything, no matter how small, from when you were... when you were an angel?”

“Only that I used to ask many questions," he said frivolously, slowly releasing him. He went to the chimney and looked at the harp behind him, “and that I loved to play the harp, or whatever instrument it was. I guess it was the only thing I was good at and so I'm still tied to music on Earth.”

“You guess, you guess.” 

“Well, I can remember voices praising me and saying how extremely good I was, that I learned very quickly because of my closeness to Her and blablabla.”

“Wonderful! That's rare, even if you don't believe it... wait," he paused confusedly, "near what? To my Superior?”

“That's what they told me, angel, I honestly don't remember much of when I was Up There and I want it to go on like this," he abruptly cut him by putting his glasses back on. The angel looked at him suspiciously and chose to finish his cake without asking any more questions. 

Aziraphale knew there was something else, but _he'd trust him_. That indulgent way of playing was typical of celestial beings like him, yes, but not at the same level: it required a love and surrender to the Deity like no other, something that only those who belonged to the high hierarchy in Heaven had. He commented no more to avoid the anger of the demon in question, but... that memory had left him with an accelerated pulse, wonders of the human body. He wondered at some point if he really knew him from before the events in Eden and preferred to keep quiet and forget more than he had now forgotten (and did not know that he had done so). 

“The rain won't stop for a few more days," he said calmly, "but I want to thank you for such a moving performance with a dinner, at the Ritz, maybe?”, asked the angel without a hint of mockery in his words. 

“Nah," he lifted his hot chocolate cup again towards him, "I think staying here killing time would be more enjoyable.”

“If you say so, I can't refuse. You're really someone nice for a demon,” he stretched out his hand doing a "health" with his bowls and after a sip he settled into an armchair that wasn't his to tell the story apart before.

“I'm not nice, for Satan's sake.”

“Don't be modest, dear," he smiled charmingly and Crowley had no choice but to give him back his exasperated smile, yet without saying another word he sat without a word and was willing to hear him speak all night if necessary.

His voice was the music his ears yearned for most every evening. 

And the harp, so delicate, was installed there on one side of the coffee table, which was never touched again by the devil but that Aziraphale took advantage of practicing at every moment before being in the bookstore, waiting for some praise or charming comment and also order to evoke the image of that celestial being, that was so well known to him and in his being he wanted to keep until the day when, perhaps, _he would see him again_.

_(1)_ Mauve flower color, from the purple color range; pale violet.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about writing something short, after YEARS of not doing it, based on the HC that Crowley made music in the sky, but basically I got the idea of this beautiful fanart and here they have me ;;;;.
> 
> https://twitter.com/madvalgo/status/1149008263213658114
> 
> I'm sorry if it is tedious or boring, I wanted to get the urge out and I did my best in my state of convalescence.  
> Thanks for reading and I will be happy to receive any comments and / or suggestions! Muaks muaks.


End file.
